


Peacetime

by ishouldwritethatdown



Series: Useless Rinch Trash [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishouldwritethatdown/pseuds/ishouldwritethatdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese and Finch have finished up a number and meet back at the Subway to eat pastries and drink their hot beverages of choice before the next call inevitably comes in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peacetime

**Author's Note:**

> i know we're all pretty torn up about the finale but i'm here to stuff you with fluff and make it all better (i'm suffering but this is fun and these two are cute). hope you enjoy!

"How is your arm, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked as he handed him his coffee.

"It's fine, Finch. I told you, it's just a graze," John took the coffee and brought it to his lips. It was too hot to drink yet.

Harold hummed, unconvinced. He sat down on the bench with his own cup of tea.

"I'll accept a Get Well Soon pastry, though," John said, plucking one out the box that had been placed between them.

"We always get pastries, Mr. Reese," Harold reminded him. "It's not a remarkable occurrence."

"Not from the fancy place near the Library," he pointed out, grinning. He took a bite of the pastry, then said through a mouthful, "We only get these for special occasions, since we’re so low on funds.”

Harold flushed and looked away, as if he had hoped John wouldn't notice the gesture. "I was passing through," he claimed.

"You know they used to pay me to pick up on the little things, Finch," John added, amused.

"You always did have a keen eye for pastries," Harold replied dryly.

John grinned and took another bite of the pastry. He reclined on the bench a little, enjoying it. "No phone calls while you were out, then?"

Harold glanced at the Subway phone automatically. "No. It appears we have the afternoon off, Mr. Reese," he answered.

Been a while since we had one of those, he thought. The memory that came to him was one in the Library, on a day much like this one. Their environment was different, but they were still the same. Eating pastries, resting injuries...

No, John corrected himself, not the same. They had both changed, in their own ways. Maybe not visibly, maybe not even noticeably. But undoubtedly they were different men to the ones that had started this.

As he was thinking this he was looking at Harold, at his eyes. He looked tired but, in this moment, happy. He had taken a pastry out of the box, too, and then moved it aside.

Harold caught his stare of adoration. "What?" he asked, bemused.

John wasn't quite sure how to explain everything he was feeling. "You look..." he searched for the right word, "peaceful," he finished.

Harold smiled, looking away for a moment. "I often think the very concept may have become alien to us," he said, a tone of sadness in his voice.

John silently admitted it often felt that way. He tentatively placed his hand over Harold's. He refused to let the shot of pain that went up his shoulder show on his face.

Harold met his eyes and smiled, setting his pastry aside to add his other hand to the pile. He stroked John's hand, almost subconsciously. He had his eyes fixed on some distant point in front of him, thinking.

They remained like that for a few minutes, enjoying the entanglement of their hands and the sweetness of the pastries lingering on their tongues. John's coffee had cooled down enough to drink and was a bitter contrast with the sweet treat.

The silence was eventually broken by the payphone trilling from the hole in the wall. Finch lifted his hand from John's and stood, walking over to the hole in the wall. John stayed on the bench and downed the rest of his coffee. When he put down the empty cup he reached over to grab the remainder of Harold's pastry.

Meanwhile Harold had scribbled down the number and was inputting it into the computer. He turned to address John, saw his stolen pastry, and frowned.

John smiled shamelessly and bit into it. He lifted himself from the bench - again ignoring the twinge in his arm - and finished the pastry as he made his way over to the workstation. "Guess our afternoon off just ended," he remarked.

"We might be able to hold onto it for just one more moment," Harold replied slowly, looking him in the eyes.

"If you say so," John smiled and leaned in to kiss him. The sugary pastries were still clinging to their lips, and it was sweet. It lasted for only a few seconds before they pulled apart. For another sweet, everlasting moment, Harold savoured the awed, blissful look on John's face, and John the warmth of Harold's cheek under his hand.

"Back to work, Mr. Reese," Harold said softly, the ghost of a smile still playing on his face.

"As you wish, Mr. Finch," John murmured. He pecked him on the cheek once more, making the absolute most of his hour of peacetime.


End file.
